A Maiden’s Hair

O, maiden with the raven hair,

      You please my poet’s eye;

But all the time I look at you

I wonder if its jet-like hue

      Has aught to do with dye?

O, maiden with your locks of gold,

      A wondrous glow you spread;

Alas! I wonder, dear, withal,

If not some magic chemical

      Has turned your pretty head?

O, maiden with your tresses blonde,

      And eyes of violet;

Although I love your golden glow

I cannot help but feel, you know,

      That you’re a bleacherette.

And maiden with your wealth of puffs,

      Your chestnut locks galore,

Pray pardon me, but when alone

I wonder if they are your own,

      Or are they from the store?

And so my heart is wrung betimes,

      With falseness and with dyes;

Because I do not wish to wed

A maiden deep-dyed at the head,

      Nor one made blonde with lyes.

Aug. 14, 1910

Wed. Aug. 17